Comming Home
by Ruthless
Summary: Home isn't about fancy furniture, and flash views. Home is where the people that you love are. Giles/Ethan


Disclaimer: not mine, never will be. I make no money from the posting of this work of fanfiction. Of course, if the owners don't want Ripper and Ethan an more, then I'd be happy to take over....

**Coming Home**

It was something so simple, so tiny.

Something that he'd always admired, always wanted, ever since the first moment that he'd seen it. It had spoken to something inside of him.

It had whispered _take me_, and that was something that he would usually be entirely powerless to refuse.

But he hadn't –because it had meant even more to someone else.

And now it _was_ his. By right of will, it was his –One of the few things in his life that he hadn't had to steal, or con, or wheedle.

Silently, he held the earring in his hand, almost as though he were weighing it. All that he really needed, he thought, without his usual mirth, was a feather to balance it against.

It wasn't anything like it had been in his memory; where it had shone, and glistened, calling out to two young boys –In his memory, where it had been the height of cool; the epitome of elegance.

Almost automatically, his eyes wandered over to the calendar hanging on the otherwise bare wall of his bedroom. He'd been living at this address for the last seven years, and he was still yet to actually turn it into a home.

It didn't feel like a home –it never had.

Home.

Such a foreign concept, these days –it had been an age since he'd last called a place _home._ Home had been where there had been a friendly face, where someone had offered a gentle touch, a kind word; had cared for him, had waited eagerly for his return at the end of every day, where he had fought, and raged; where he had laughed, and cried; where he had bled and shivered, and held his lover tightly when he'd been afraid, and cast spells, and called on the magick of love – a magick so much deeper and more effecting than any other power that he had ever brushed against.

Where he had first heard, and dared to believe in the word _always_. An _always_ that had come to pass far too soon.

This place, it was clean, sterile. There were no memories; there had never been anyone other then himself here.

To make memories, to invite someone else here, that would feel like sacrilege, and so much akin to giving up. And that was one thing that he had never done; it was one thing that he still had.

The date, circled on the calendar, was still two weeks away.

And there was someone else that had always admired the earring, as simple as it was, even more than he.

Not that it would really make all that much difference. Just like the last half-dozen or so times he'd tried to reach out, the gesture was almost certain to be brushed off –Returned, opened and yet still sent back.

_Used and returned –Just like I was_.

The thought was spiteful, cold, and he tried to crush it back before he wound up grabbing a bottle and slipping into his usual miserable stupor.

He had thought about it often, and he knew that he wouldn't trade what little time that he'd spent with Rupert, as his companion, as his partner, as his friend, for anything else in the world, even with the pain that such a trade would have saved him.

It was simply a part of him, to try again.

**XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX**

He hadn't been expecting anything; he had never told Buffy, or any of the other, when his birthday was. It always passed without remark.

Before he'd handed Ethan over to the Initiative, he had received a letter, or a card every year. But ever since that final falling out…

It almost stung, to think of it.

Buffy had come by to report her patrol of last night, and the doorman had given her a letter, to bring up.

She looked at it curiously, as she handed it over. There was no name, but there was a return address scrawled on the back, in a familiar hand.

Giles didn't look at the back however, didn't notice this, as he opened it, expecting a bill or some such thing or other.

Instead, there was a card, jet-black, and thick, with silver writing on the inside.

As he tilted it up, to slide it out, something slid out and landed on the table, bounced once, and came to a rest. In quiet amazement, he picked it up, wonderingly, and held it lightly in his hand, almost as though not wanting to cover it over for fear of opening his hand and finding it gone.

Buffy lent over his shoulder, to read what was written on the inside.

_Hope __your__ birthday is better than my last._

_Miss you.  
__Thinking of you  
_–_Always.  
__E D R_

"_If you fall…  
_…_I'll catch _

_If you love..._  
_…I'll love_

_And so it goes,  
__My dear._

_Don't be scared,  
__You'll be safe_

_This I swear  
__If you only love me…"_

"_Sonata Arctica –The Misery"_

He drew in a shaking breath, and closed his eyes tightly. After all this time, even with everything that had come up in between them, the gesture was still sincere.

In those rare times when Ethan hadn't tried to keep his more …tender? Thoughtful? Caring? Side under wraps, then it had always spoken to something that, the rest of the time, Giles could and would, quite effectively, keep buried.

Especially when others were around.

He could quite easily see Ethan, in his minds' eye, surfing through the radio stations the way he always had, -a habit that had pissed Giles off so often (half the time he'd been certain that he had only done it in order _to_ annoy him) and finding the song.

He could feel a sting, which was far too real, at the corners of his eyes.

He tried so often not to think about it, but he was lonely. Had been ever since Angel had taken Jenny from him, really.

When Ethan had asked him to the nearest bar that night, he'd dared to hope…

And for a night, at least, it _had_ been safe to dream.

"Giles?"

Buffy's voice was soft. Almost as though she were trying not to encroach on his thoughts.

"Are you…are you okay?"

He blinked a couple of times.

"I'll be fine." He wasn't sure if he'd answered out loud, or simply imagined it, but he made sure to be certain that his next answer was spoken, "I…I just need a little… space…a little time, please, Buffy."

As she left, he hesitantly turned the envelope over, to look at the return address, wondering if it might not be safe to dream again.

**XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX**

When Ethan came back to his…room… that night, he instantly noticed the familiar touch of magick that had parted through his wards.

He opened the door slowly, and slipped inside as quietly as he could, but he needn't have bothered –Because Rupert was already looking up, towards the door.

They had long ago passed the point where they had been able to sneak up on one another.

"I think it's about time we talked, Ethan. Don't you?"

At those words, he sat down on the couch beside Rupert.

"Yes, Ripper. I'd fully agree with that statement. I want to know where we stand."

He gave the other man a tiny, tentative smile, and directed all of his attention towards him. The tiny smile became genuine, as he noticed that for once, Rupert had accepted his gift, the earring threaded through his left ear, just like in the days of their wicked youth, when all that had _really _mattered had been one another.

Ripper had come here, at last -and that meant that he could finally acknowledge this place as somewhere with substance, as _home._

No matter the outcome of tonight.


End file.
